Painter Palaver

by Curtis Bausse

  ‘Coming on nicely,’ said Bondy. Though he stayed close behind, keeping the gun trained on her, he let her walk round at leisure, and they paused at each picture like visitors at an exhibition. ‘I last came down in April. That one was hardly started. Grésy, I think he said. I wouldn’t know myself.’

  ‘April. When you came to warn him about burning leaves.’

  ‘They had every right to complain. I told him to lay off but I knew he wouldn’t. He had that look on his face.’

  ‘Stubborn. It got him killed in the end.’

  ‘A shame. No more golden eggs from that particular goose.’

  ‘There are others?’

  ‘Not as regular, maybe. This one... Three or four a year, an average of what, fifteen or twenty thousand a piece, split three ways. My share came to twelve thousand last year. Six months’ salary. Not to be sneezed at.’

  ‘Certainly not. Just for keeping quiet.’

  ‘Oh, more than that. Loyalty.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Dad.’ He indicated the originals on the wall. ‘He was the one who got them. Without him this could never have happened.’

  ‘Got them?’ Then she made the connection. The Zamini Gallery. ‘Magali said there were twelve.’

  ‘The others went to Porthos. He passed them on to Durvez to be sold.’

  Porthos? It took her a moment to grasp. ‘Your father was the third Musketeer.’

  ‘Aramis. The youngest. They bossed him around a bit. Gino made the plans but the actual theft – Dad took all the risk. He was spotted by a passer-by, brought in for questioning, but they couldn’t make it stick. He held firm.’

  ‘And brought you in on it when? You must have been a toddler at the time.’

  ‘When he fell ill. I was just out of training school. He gave me the choice – turn them all in, ignore it, or have the same when he died.’

  ‘A newly trained gendarme... That must have been hard.’

  ‘Hard?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I was all he had. My mother had left him, he was dying – you wouldn’t hesitate. In the meantime, Gino could pull strings, get me a post in Moudiret. I could look after him.’

  ‘So now you’re a Musketeer yourself. Congratulations.’

  ‘We came down here for the ceremony. Dad could hardly walk at that point, but he made the effort. I was sworn in as Aramis. Gino told me afterwards that Seibel wanted to cut my share to ten percent, since I had nothing to do with the heist. Gino resisted. You don’t cut bargains with loyalty.’

  ‘Besides, you serve a purpose. The arson, for example.’

  ‘A decent cut when the money comes through. It all helps.’

  ‘Was Eddy Ferrucci in on it?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. I only ever dealt with Gino.’

  At that point, Sophie’s phone rang – the sound caused him to jump. Realising that something had to be done, he threw it to the floor and brought his heel down hard. The ringing stopped.

  Who was it? Magali? Luc? Neither knew where she was. Bondy stood there biting his lip. ‘That must have been Pico,’ she bluffed. ‘It won’t be long before he arrives.’

  ‘Pico? Don’t make me laugh. He swallowed everything. The locked room mystery, Best and Ferrucci framing each other – the lot. Lapped it up. I was surprised – the way Cyril described him, I thought he was a genius. How the hell did he ever get to be General? But that’s how it works – the top brass are either morons or corrupt. Both, more likely.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk about corruption.’

  ‘Me? Bah! At my level it’s nothing. Have a chat with Gino – he’ll tell you. The further up you go, the worse it is.’ He grabbed a paint-stained rag. ‘Put your hands behind your back.’

  ‘Moron or not, he’ll soon be wondering where you are.’

  ‘I doubt it. He’s interviewing Isadora Waverley. He doesn’t need me, he said. I went up to the pool for a smoke. That’s when I saw the light on in here.’

  ‘What’s your plan? Escape?’ She winced as he pulled the rag tight round her wrists. ‘Your car’s next door. You’ll be seen before you get to it.’

  ‘What makes you think I need mine? Thibault’s will do fine.’

  ‘Which he’ll give you if you ask nicely? I doubt it.’

  ‘He won’t need much persuading. He knows what his father got up to. If he wants his name kept out of it, he’ll comply. And if he doesn’t – well, I’ve got a hostage, haven’t I? He’s a nice man, Thibault. He wouldn’t want to see you hurt.’

  ‘And then what? Hide for the rest of your life? Some future.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me. Porthos has ways and means. The Musketeers look after their own.’

  Is he serious? All things considered, she preferred Tikar-Bom to this fervid, gun-toting reincarnation of Aramis. ‘And your family – have you thought of them?’

  ‘My wife’s on board. We’re in this together. Isn’t that what marriage is about – for better or for worse? Down on your knees. Face to the wall.’

  He put his gun down. A moment later, another rag came round her mouth. The taste of turpentine made her retch, and she lunged sideways, but he pressed his knee between her shoulders and snapped her head back. Then the pressure relaxed; he let go, wheeled round. Behind her, a rapid patter of footsteps – someone coming down the stairs.

  It was almost a dead heat, but Bondy was half a second quicker. He grabbed his weapon and twisted her round, one arm gripping her neck, till they formed an ungainly sprawl on the floor. But she was now his shield, with the cold, hard metal of a gun against her temple. ‘Lower your weapon. Put it on the floor. Slowly.’

  General Pico had no other option but to obey. ‘I may not be a genius,’ he said as he straightened up, ‘but it doesn’t take one to figure you out. The moron knew all along, Valentin. May I call you that? I can’t grace you with the title of Lieutenant anymore.’

  Rising to his feet, Bondy yanked her upright. He shifted his weight, steadying himself. ‘All along?’

  ‘Your eagerness to convince me Best was guilty – it would take a moron indeed not to be suspicious. And the more I let you talk, the more you dug your own hole. Which now, I’m afraid, you’re into up to your neck.’ Keeping his eyes steadily on Bondy, Pico took a step forward. ‘Let her go.’

  ‘Stay where you are! Hands on your head! Against the wall.’

  Pico took another step. ‘As Madame Kiesser said, you have no chance at all of getting away.’

  The grip grew tighter round Sophie’s neck. Another step forward. The gun moved away from her head to point at Pico. ‘One more and you’re dead.’

  ‘Two more and I calmly take that gun out of your hand.’ As he took the first step, Pico stretched out his arm. ‘Give it to me, Lieutenant. That’s an order.’

  The gun went off. Pico fell to floor, clutching his shoulder. Throwing Sophie aside, Bondy dashed to the stairs and scrambled up the steps. The upper half of him was barely out of sight when there came a mighty clang and the whole of him fell back down, accompanied by a spade.

  Then a face appeared upside down, peering into the studio. ‘Shit!’ said Luc. ‘Have I killed him?’

  Chapter 42 A Masterly Performance

  ‘There was I thinking it had to be true when it was just an elaborate trap. And Bondy walked right into it. The coffee cup and the cloth – Pico planted those himself. Then said the next clue would be honey, so what happens? Bondy ‘discovers’ honey. But in the book it wasn’t honey, it was candle grease.’

  Apart from Eddy and Maya, the other guests had left. They were seen off by Isadora, who gave out cheques reimbursing four-fifths of the cost of their stay. The cheques were signed by Adeline but she herself made no appearance. Isadora also pressed bags of surplus food on everyone. ‘It all has to go. We stocked enough for an army, haw, haw!’

  The warmest farewell came from Lyle, who told Sophie he’d much enjoyed her company, hoped they’d meet again, and promised to stay in touch. Claire gave her an awkw
ard hug and mumbled that if ever she was in Lyon, she really must come and stay. Martin and Penelope slunk away without saying goodbye to anyone. And that was the sad and sorrowful end of an artists’ retreat in a little corner of paradise.

  Thank god for Tatty. She wasn’t sorrowful at all. Sophie had invited her to stay the rest of the week at Sentabour, but as the result of a ‘brainwave’ during the night, she’d already made other plans. Namely to work on a collection of stories written from the point of view of beds. ‘Goes one better than Tracey Emin, don’t you think? Though rather more work, I’m afraid. But Isadora’s agreed to do the writing, I’ll just do the research.’ For some reason, this meant she had to fly to Helsinki forthwith. ‘But you’re looking much better, dear, I think I can safely leave without any worries. We never had our qi session, did we, but I must have managed to unblock it anyway. A nice big hug now, just to make sure. There! That’ll tide you over till whenever. A get-together at Christmas, how’s that?’ She got into her car and lowered the window. ‘I wasn’t a very good detective, I’m afraid, but I’ll do better next time, I promise.’

  For all that Sophie heaved a sigh on watching her aunt depart, she still had to wipe away a tear. Now, while Luc packed the car, she sat by the pool feeding Dorian as she told Magali of the talk she’d just had with General Pico.

  ‘Why in public though?’ asked Magali. ‘Couldn’t he have just confronted Bondy himself?’

  ‘Playing on Bondy’s eagerness to rise to the occasion. The plan to put pressure on Martin – Bondy went along with it all the way. Well, so did I – I mean, adding clues from the book struck me as perfectly consistent.’

  ‘Except you thought Martin had devised the locked room mystery, so the clues were consistent with that. But Bondy knew he hadn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, he looked pretty gobsmacked when Pico produced them, I must say. But the way Pico did it, the profile he gave of Martin – it was masterly. Bondy fell for it. It all came out, right up to the honey. At which point I spoiled the play.’

  ‘And you say Pico suspected him right from the start?’

  ‘Pretty much. What he didn’t have was the motive. It could only be that Praud was close to finding something Bondy was desperate to hide, probably something to do with Escarola. It turns out it was a file on Escarola that Praud was trying to get hold of for Cyril. Bondy was terrified Praud would discover his father had been questioned about the theft of the paintings.’

  ‘But Escarola wasn’t questioned. Where was the link to Bondy’s father?’

  ‘The renovation of the gallery was done by a company belonging to one of Escarola’s acolytes. Bondy’s father was taken on to help with the wiring. No one’s sure if the file even exists anymore, or if it does, someone’s keeping a very firm lid on it. But Bondy was paranoid. He thought the whole thing was about to unravel.’

  ‘OK. But that’s what Bondy has admitted now. How did Pico did get to it?’

  ‘By bringing me in on it. Not to translate – that was just the excuse he gave to Bondy. But he left us together to see if Bondy would let slip something to me that he wouldn’t have to Pico. What he let slip was the attempt to get me to stop your Granet enquiry – not enough on its own but it gave Pico the lead he was after. Nothing solid, but then you told him about your call to Viviane and when Cyril found out the third Musketeer was Bondy’s father, he started to put it all together.’

  ‘Escarola, the theft, Bondy – I get that. But Seibel doing the forgeries in his cabin... I mean what made Pico go looking there?’

  ‘Praud’s notes. When he read them again he picked up on the cabin being locked and Thibault having the key. He called Thibault who said he’d given it to Bondy. He went looking for Bondy and was told he’d gone up to the pool. He saw the light from the cabin.’

  ‘Where his attempt to rescue you almost ended in disaster. Just as well Luc came along.’

  ‘God, yes. It hangs on so little. If I hadn’t told you I was with Gabrielle, he wouldn’t have asked her where I was.’ Sophie sighed. ‘And I promised him this time I wouldn’t get into trouble.’

  ‘Well, it seems he’s very good at getting you out of it.’

  ‘Better even than Pico.’ His arm in a sling, the General had apologised to Sophie for ‘needlessly endangering her life’, though in Sophie’s view it was his that came closer to ending. But Bondy, he said, wasn’t trained for nothing – he knew how to nick no more than the tiniest piece of flesh. He, on the other hand, had miscalculated: the stairs were steeper and narrower than he’d thought, and he himself older. A quite unforgivable lapse of judgement.

  ‘And Tikar?’ asked Magali, returning to the details of the case. ‘That was Bondy too? Framing Cyril? But why frame two different people?’

  ‘Perhaps not frame but discredit. Or at least muddy the waters so whatever Cyril discovered would be discounted.’ When it came to Cyril’s contribution, both positive and negative, Pico had said very little, apart from telling her not to bother with a report. The whole affair had been troublesome enough for half a dozen reports, and he didn’t want to burden her with that. But if she didn’t mind, he would like to discuss it with her one day; there were certain aspects of Captain Eveno’s behaviour which intrigued him. ‘Quite a relief, I must say. Writing it all down would be a real –’

  ‘Ah! The two detectives.’ Eddy appeared, towel slung over his shoulder. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to. Tying up the loose ends, are you? Perhaps that’s why my ears were ringing. A shame. I missed it all.’

  ‘I don’t know why they’d be ringing,’ said Magali. ‘We haven’t mentioned you.’

  ‘Good. The less said, the better. I’ve already got Pico on my case – bribery, corruption, swindling, you name it. I don’t need you two piling it on even thicker.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re afraid,’ said Sophie, cocking an eyebrow, ‘we might add arson to the mix?’

  ‘Quite the Pitbull, aren’t you, Madame Kiesser?’ He bared his teeth. ‘Do you never let go?’

  ‘If it’s any comfort, Lieutenant Bondy has no proof you were involved.’

  ‘And why would he? I wasn’t. But I dare say thanks to your efforts, I can say goodbye to eighty thousand euros. Still,’ he added as he took off his shirt and stepped into the pool, ‘no hard feelings. You’re only doing your job. And you know what? You’ve actually been a great help. These past two days have given me more inspiration than a month with Forster ever could.’

  Chapter 43 A Curious Bunch

  ‘What will you say?’ Ten days after leaving Venturi, Luc was packing again, this time for a fortnight’s camping trip. Just the four of them, hopefully nowhere near any painters, nurseries, or fans of Agatha Christie. ‘Have you decided?’

  Sophie hadn’t. He meant about Cyril. To be honest, she hadn’t given it a lot of thought. At first, yes, turning it over this way and that, pondering his behaviour, but as the days passed and she got no word from Pico, she thought he must have forgotten all about it. Cyril himself had called briefly to apologise for his behaviour. A temporary aberration, he said, brought on by stress, heat and a germ in his liver pâté sandwich.

  ‘Not really. I’ll give it some thought in the car.’

  The message from Pico had arrived the day before. Their ‘little chat’ was fixed for ten o’ clock, and the matter of Cyril’s future now loomed larger than ever. She told herself her opinion didn’t count. Pico had his own ideas, he wouldn’t lend any weight to hers.

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Luc, wagging a finger. ‘He listens to everyone. If he asked you to come, it’s to hear what you have to say. So what’s it to be – liver pâté or basket case? It’s time you told him the truth, Sophie.’

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘Me? It’s not my business. Besides, I don’t want you breaking my balls over this.’

  ‘Luc! That’s mean! Since when have I ever –’

  ‘OK. Sorry. Out of line.’ He stretched his lips in a grimace: self-reproach, or the search fo
r words less hurtful. ‘Just that you seem... it seems important to you. Like you’d be upset if he got the push. Heaven knows why.’

  ‘I don’t think he could be fired just for having a good luck charm. And even if he was, it wouldn’t bother me. It’s none of my business either.’

  ‘So what is it then? Why so keen to see him promoted?’

  ‘I’m not. It’s just that he is. He does all he can to be worthy of it and in most ways he is. I’d be disappointed if he turned out to be as unsuitable as you think he is. But hey, it’s up to Pico. I’m sure he’ll do what’s right.’

  ‘Depends how much information he’s got.’

  ‘I think Cyril has to figure out for himself who he is, what he really wants. If there are situations he can’t handle, he’s got to be honest with himself.’

  When she got to the gendarmerie headquarters in Marseille, twenty minutes ahead of time, Sophie’s mind was still flitting between basket case and pâté. She sat in the antechamber to Pico’s office flicking through the Mayor’s propaganda rag, taking nothing in, before tossing it aside and scrolling through her news feed instead. As she was doing so, a message arrived from Lyle.

  There’d already been a couple of exchanges between them, brief and unremarkable. He was back in Tulsa staying with his sister Ashley, and missing France already. She’d replied in a similar vein: the children were fine, her aunt was in Helsinki, the heatwave thankfully had passed.

  This message, sent at three in the morning, was different. It came with a long attachment, and when she’d finished reading, she stared straight ahead, jaw drooping in amazement. At that moment the secretary announced that General Pico was ready to receive her.

  He greeted her affably, though wasted no time on small talk. To judge by the paperwork on his desk, the Seibel case had been replaced ten times over. She waited for him to bring up the topic of Cyril, but he began by stating baldly, ‘Valentin Bondy won’t be going on trial. He committed suicide in his cell last night.’